


Bonfire Heart

by Ms_Tassimo



Series: Believe It or Not [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, F/M, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Murder, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 04:32:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15766665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Tassimo/pseuds/Ms_Tassimo
Summary: If Stiles had never returned to Beacon Hills, it would be too soon. Unfortunately, some asshole had different ideas and decided to cull the student population.Now, Stiles is back in his childhood home, dealing with some hard truths and facing the man who broke his heart four years ago.And there is, of course, the problem of the crazy creature trying to kill them that may or may not take precedence.





	Bonfire Heart

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the angsty beginning to the fluffy lil short fic I posted a few days ago. A lot of people wanted to have more so I thought that I could work up to the ending (at least that way everyone knows there's a happy ending).

It felt like an eternity since Stiles Stilinski had crossed the border into Beacon Hills. And it relatively had been. After everything that had happened, he had been pretty adamant that his departure would be a one-way deal. But now, as he took in the familiar woodlands, something in his stomach lurched and it took all of his self-control not to turn his Jeep round and head back to the city.

The image of his dad’s face was the only thing that kept him heading straight. Besides, this was merely a visit. There would be no permanent residence. All he was doing was helping out his dad and doing his job. As soon as he had solved the case, he could head back to his small apartment and back to his comfortable FBI job.

“It’s good to see you, kid!” his dad greeted, stepping out of the house at the very same moment Stiles parked up. Forcing a smile, Stiles accepted the tight hug from his father. Over his shoulder, he looked up at his childhood home – nothing had changed, not even the paintwork. In the four years he had been gone, his dad had seemingly lived in a time capsule, never ageing, just waiting for Stiles to return.

“Hey, dad,” Stiles said, releasing the older man. “How’s things?”

“Good, good,” Noah replied, clapping Stiles on the shoulder. “I got takeout.”

Stiles’ argument died on his lips. Who was _he_ to lecture his dad about saturates, fats and cholesterol when he hadn’t been here in so long? So, reluctantly, Stiles headed inside after Noah, his – purposely – small duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

“I got you curly fries,” Noah said happily, tossing Stiles a small package. They smelt of grease and all things good, and Stiles sat down at the table quickly. His stomach growled hungrily, his worry of returning having obviously taken precedence.

“So what’s been going on, kid? You haven’t been returning my calls.” Noah sounded reproachful and Stiles dropped his gaze.

“I’ve just been busy, I guess,” he mumbled in reply. “You know how it is.”

“Scott says you’ve been avoiding him.”

“Yeah, well, Scott hasn’t exactly been forthcoming,” Stiles muttered bitterly.

Noah just stared at him for a moment before nodding. He crossed the kitchen and opened a cupboard, one which Stiles knew contained the Scotch.

“We thought you’d be best to deal with this case,” his dad said, pouring himself a glass. “Given your…knowledge of the supernatural world.”

Stiles snorted, leaning back.

“You could say that.”

“Not everyone started running around with werewolves when they were in High School,” Noah reasoned, turning back to Stiles. “And it sure as hell isn’t a mountain lion killing these kids.” A lump rose in Stiles’ throat at the memory of the pictures Noah had sent over, the mangled bodies of teenagers.

Stiles had seen a lot of shit since he had started the FBI – murders, attacks, terrorism – but there was something about the sight of the bodies that had made his blood run cold. Perhaps it was the familiarity of it all, how close to home it felt.

“What do you know about it?” Stiles asked, accepting the glass his father offered him readily.

“Not a lot to be honest,” Noah sighed, sitting down across from Stiles. “We haven’t got much to go on. No DNA traces, no murder weapons. You can see why people would think it’s an animal doing it.”

“And what makes you think that it _isn’t_?”

Damn, if he had made a trip across the country to find out that the resident cat had decided to go on a killing spree, he was going to string the furry beast up himself.

“Because Derek said.”

Stiles almost swallowed his tongue. He burst out laughing, the expression on his face one of disbelief. _Derek?_

“Since when do _you_ believe what Derek Hale says?” Stiles managed, shaking his head. Noah frowned slightly, finishing his drink.

“Derek works very closely with us now, Stiles; we’ve seen a real drop in crime since then. I don’t know what happened between you two-”

“ _Nothing happened_ ,” Stiles said quickly, suddenly regretting the angry tone. However, if his dad had noticed, he said nothing. He merely nodded.

“If Derek says that it’s something else doing the killing, then I believe him. And I need you to help him. Keep it all legal.”

“You want me to work with Derek?” Stiles scoffed. “Does he know about this?”

Noah frowned slightly.

“It was him who suggested it.”

***

After dinner, Stiles excused himself, feigning fatigue from the long car trip. It wasn’t technically a lie; he was exhausted, but the new information he had just been fed had woken his brain up rather significantly.

Fucking Derek. Fucking Derek Hale. It was a name he had hoped he wasn’t going to hear again. In fact, just knowing that the asshole was still hanging around Beacon Hills made Stiles want to bang his head against the wall.

And his _dad_? Taking him like a little lost puppy?

“Ha,” Stiles grumbled. “Puppy.”

Taking a deep breath, Stiles looked around his childhood bedroom, taking in the pictures that were haphazardly tacked to his wall. Baby-faced versions of himself and Scott beamed back at him, back during his buzzcut years. He inwardly winced, moving on to the next assortment. There was one of Scott and Allison, their arms around each other. Happy. Innocent.

Stiles sighed, turning his gaze back to the bag on his bed. He had wanted to make it apparent that he wasn’t staying for long but now that he knew that his father expected to work an entire case, Stiles had a sinking feeling he was going to have to reacquaint himself with their ancient washer.

Perhaps it was a subconscious decision, or a simple case of forgetting, but Stiles suddenly heard the tell-tale sound of his window sliding open. And, before he could draw the gun from his holster, he was staring into the eyes of the very last person he wished to see at that moment in time.

“Get out,” Stiles said flatly, his fingers still twitching against his firearm.

Derek raised a ridiculously thick eyebrow, eyeing Stiles’ hand with interest.

“Thought you didn’t do guns.”

“Get _out_ ,” Stiles repeated.

“What? You’re going to shoot me?”

“You just broke into my house.”

Derek rolled his eyes, sitting down on Stiles’ bed.

“Besides, why don’t you just ring the doorbell,” Stiles snapped, removing his hand from his holster. “The way I hear it, you’re my dad’s surrogate son. Care to explain?”

Derek shrugged – _as if it was no big frickin’ deal! –_ and folded his arms across his chest.

“How come you haven’t spoken to Scott?”

“Stop answering my questions with answers!” Stiles exclaimed, suddenly waving his arms in the air. “Just tell me what’s going on, so we can sort it and I can leave.”

Derek looked at him strangely, and for a moment Stiles felt he had gone too far with his anger. But then he remembered all the shit that had gone down between them and decided that no, his anger was completely justified.

“You should call Scott. He’s worried about you.”

“Derek, please leave,” Stiles sighed in resignation, massaging his temples. “I’m tired and I can’t deal with your shit tonight. I’m not gonna call Scott. I don’t even wanna _talk_ to you. I’m going to the station tomorrow to look at the case files, okay?”

Derek nodded, his gaze fixed on Stiles. The younger man was desperately trying not to return said gaze, not wanting to be reminded of the wolf’s diamond-cut jaw, brush of stubble and startling green eyes. He didn’t want to remember the way those lips had-

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Derek said slowly, getting to his feet and crossing the room towards the window. Before he climbed out, the older man hesitated, his back to Stiles.

“I didn’t want this to happen either,” Derek breathed. “I promise.”

“Go.”

Stiles hoped that he hadn’t heard the blip in his heartbeat.


End file.
